This week, we're off to Cicero, Indiana, nominally because some poor schmuck fought a demonically possessed table saw and lost -- and my, but that losing was exquisite -- but really because Doomed El Deano spent a particularly exhausting weekend there a decade ago with a yoga instructor named Lisa (whom Dean's taken to referring to as "Gumby Girl," for what I hope are obvious reasons), and he's looking for a repeat performance. Imagine Dean's surprise, then, when he arrives at her tastefully appointed McMansion in an exclusive gated community and discovers she's got a son precisely the correct age to be his. Even more unnerving for Our Intrepid Hero is the fact that the kid's basically a miniature version of himself, right down to his fondness for AC/DC, saucy chicas, and extra-crispy amounts of gel in his hair. Alas, it's simply a gigantic red herring to make us feel even more sorry for Dean than we already supposedly do, as the child actually spawned from some bar-back Lisa did right after Dean skipped town. Poor Deazzzzzzzzzzz.
Which brings us -- sort of, not really -- to The Demons Of The Week: A horde of ankle-biting Changelings have invaded central Indiana and, having locked the real kids away in a basement, are now slowly sucking the life force out of the mothers in Lisa's development, to the point where one of them tries to pull a Susan Smith on her purported daughter. Unfortunately, the attempted drowning doesn't work, because Changelings are immune to everything except fire. Our Dear Boys save the day, of course, but not before the creepy little preadolescent freaks put everyone in the audience off children for life.
And finally, The Hate Blonde pops up to screw with Darling Sammy's shaggy and undead head by revealing she knows all about both The Demonic Miss America Pageant and What Happened To Burnt Mary. Oh, and she's a demon, too, but that's okay, because she's been tasked by entities unknown with protecting The Ginormotron, and she might be able to solve Li'l Stumpy's pesky Crossroads Demonette problem, as well. We'll be reserving judgment on that, though, until we get a better idea of how it's all going to play out.
Rattle, Rattle THEN! Yes, I'm going with "Rattle, Rattle" for now until I come up with a more enthusiastic pair of words to describe the new opening sound for the THEN sequence, a sound which most closely resembles that of an old 16-millimeter projector scrabbling through a reel of film. Perhaps it is a demonic 16-millimeter projector, yes? In any event, whereas last season's THEN-sequence catchphrase was that whole "Saving people, hunting things!" bit from "Wendigo," this year's call to arms comes to us from Dean's all-but-final words in last week's premiere: "So whaddya say we kill some evil sons of bitches, and we raise a little hell?" Smash to a montage of Our Dear Boys doing just that, with Dean blasting rock salt through Farmer Roadkill's head and Sam swinging an iron poker through that shrewlike bit of preadolescent foulness from the first half of last season's finale before we're reintroduced to dear old danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps and H.H. Holmes until the Impala smokes a ghost right before shoulder-destroying G.I. Jake slices poor Darling Sammy's spinal cord in two. And after we're reminded of the exact terms of Dean's trade with the sassy Crossroads Demonette, we run through last week's introduction of The Mysterious And Slender Blonde That All True Fangirls Everywhere Must Hate, and everything then pitches into a familiar blackness from which emerges the...
...Silence, Silence NOW! God, that's weak. Oh, show. Why'd you have to screw around with something that worked? Sigh. Anyway, as the unnaturally silent NOW! slips back into oblivion, an actress named Kathleen Munroe steps forward to take its place. I've seen nothing she's ever been in before, nor do I remember her character's name for this evening's festivities, mainly because I started referring to her as "Crazy Mom" in my head about ten minutes in, so we'll go with that for now. So, Crazy Mom, hugging herself against the nighttime autumn chill, descends from her lovely suburban manse's front porch and heaves a weary and put-upon sigh as a silver SUV swings into her driveway. The location card reveals we've found ourselves in Cicero, Indiana, as the SUV rolls to a stop, and barely has the engine cut off when a pink-clad brunette moppet hops from the back seat to scurry over and wrap her arms around Crazy Mom's waist in a tight and clingy embrace. "This isn't going to end well!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon from the thoroughly unnerved depths of his overstuffed armchair, for as he'll readily remind you, preadolescent girls are the most fulsome and noxious evil on the face of the planet. "It's true!" As Crazy Mom gently strokes the little freak's head, Divorced Dad lopes over with the Satanic moppet's backpack and responds to Crazy Mom's offer of thanks for pulling chauffeur duty with a slightly snappish, "It's not like I had a choice -- she pitched a fit!" "Evil!" shrieks Raoul, directing an perfectly honed accusatory claw at the television screen. "The child is evil!" I think we got that, my clamorous friend, so would you mind calming down for a moment so I can get to the good part? "Whatever! I can't watch!" It's gonna be a long night, I can tell.
So, while Divorced Dad takes off in the background, Crazy Mom leads her Evil Child back towards the front porch, wondering why the demonspawn insisted on cutting short the latter's quality time with Divorced Dad while reminding the foul imp of the joint custody arrangement her parents reached as part of the settlement, and I'll not be making the obvious Britney remark, so you'll have to live with the disappointment. "I don't like Dad's Night!" the infernal little troll whines, and no, no Federline jokes, either. Deal. "I don't want Dad to have a night anymore!" The Evil Child insists. Confused and put-upon Crazy Mom's all, "Since when?" "Since she sold her soul to Beelzebub!" shrieks Raoul, and dude! Enough! Bury your eyes in your paws, or something! "I can't help it! Foul creatures! Foul, foul, wicked...things!" Unfortunately for all of us, The Evil Child does nothing to refute Raoul's assertion when she completely loses it right there on the porch and all but screeches, "I hate it there!" "He's mean!" The Evil Child LIES. "And there are monsters there!" she continues to deceive. I mean, I'm pretty sure. Then again, I wouldn't trust one of these overprivileged brats any further than I could toss their massive and hideously overdeveloped senses of entitlement, so I might not be the best judge, but whatever. Crazy Mom, clearly thrown by her evil child's unexpected vehemence, or something, simply allows the wicked beast to wrap her in another will-draining embrace while she herself frets.